


415E

by gimmealltheships



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: College AU, M/M, Mild Angst, Mild Dubcon Kissing, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Partying/Drinking, Ziam need to use their words, mild violence, ziam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3126293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmealltheships/pseuds/gimmealltheships
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn's never going out ever again. He knows he's said it before, but this time he's serious. It normally turns out in disaster, his infrequent outings with Louis and Niall and Harry, but this is a step too far.</p><p>Or the one where Zayn needs an alibi and his roommate Liam comes up with one for him. Cue angst and happy, smutty endings for all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prove Me Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what this is, but I hope it's not too horrid.
> 
> Title taken from the California Police Scanner Code 415E, which means "disturbance (loud music or party)". Yeah, I know, not a UK Police Code, but this one sounded cool, and I promise the boys are still British. And Irish, in Niall's case.
> 
> Feedback greatly appreciated!!
> 
> PLEASE READ THE ADDITIONAL WARNINGS AT THE END BEFORE CONTINUING.

When Louis approaches Zayn in their Lit class and suggests going to a party two month before finals, Zayn's no is steadfast and sure.

There's no way he's letting Louis sucker him into getting pissed off his ass and ending up with a hangover so horrible he won't be able to look at words without vomiting. He's not gonna do it. It might still be early and there might be plenty of time to study, but Zayn's workload is heavy this year and he can't afford to slack.

And to Zayn's surprise, Louis doesn't push it. He simply sighs and nods and flicks Zayn on the nose.

It's the same every Friday night for the next six weeks. Zayn will be wedged into his corner at the library, slumped over a table at the cafe, or cuddled down in his room, and Louis will blow in like a thunderstorm and throw himself over Zayn's books.

"What say we get smashed tonight, Malik?" he'd ask.

Zayn would snort and say, "Not happening, Lou, you know I've got shit to do."

And Louis would huff and say something like "Have it your way, then" or "Fine, I'll leave you to it" and he'll disappear with Niall and Harry in his wake.

But now it's the week before finals and Zayn thinks he's ready. He probably isn't, will most likely fail every test he takes, but he's done what prepping he can and there's literally nothing more he can do.

Which might be why when his lads tumble up to his door Friday evening and ask him to come out with them, he agrees.

It's a terrible idea, Zayn knows, but he just wants to relax and let off some steam. The lads cheer him on as he heads to his room and changes into some sort of acceptable outfit.

Just as Zayn's fixing the collar on his black button up, Liam muscles his way through Louis, Harry, and Niall, backpack hanging off one shoulder and hat slightly askew.

"Hey," Liam says with a small smile.

"How was work, babe?" Zayn asks, slipping on his shoes.

Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Liam worked at a small coffee shop around the corner from the university. Tuesdays and Thursdays were for the campus library and on the weekends, he volunteered at the local animal shelter. Zayn is never not amazed that he still manages to get all of his school work done and maintain stellar grades.

Liam shrugs. "It was pretty good. Everyone liked those chocolate espresso muffins I tried out, so I've been baking all day."

Zayn nods and says, "No surprise there. They were really delicious when you gave me some last week."

"Going out, babe?" Liam asks, looking Zayn over with an intensity that makes Zayn's skin feel too small.

Zayn clears his throat, which is suddenly dry and a little too tight. "Yeah, ah, just a party in some rich neighborhood."

"Good for you, Zayn. You need some time off, you've been working too hard lately." Liam brushes his fingers against the edge of Zayn's jaw as he passes by, sending a feather of heat up the right half of Zayn's face.

Zayn snorts after him, trying to hide how unsettled he is. "Look who's talking," he calls towards Liam's bedroom. "Hey Liam, why don't you come with us?"

Liam reappears with a pair of clean clothes, a towel, and his bar of soap in hand. "Thanks but no thanks, babe. Gotta be up early tomorrow, I'm covering Jesy's shift so she can go to an interview."

Zayn hums and leans against the wall as Liam walks by. "You sure?" he asks, giving Liam a tiny smirk. "Promise I'll have you home before sunrise."

He just laughs, bright and lovely. "Love you, Zayn. Be safe and have a nice night." Zayn's insides rattle at the casual way Liam throws "love" and his name around.

He's so distracted by it that he misses the way Liam tugs Louis in close and whispers, " _Take care of him, Lou. Bring him home to me in one piece_ ," in Louis' ear before walking into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

 

*****

 

The first year Zayn started school, he'd gotten an apartment off campus. The peace had been nice, and he'd had more than enough money to afford it, but after much convincing on Louis' part, Zayn had signed up for a dorm room.

When he'd found out he was going to get a roommate, he'd been uncomfortable. When he'd found out Louis was already bunking with Harry and Niall had Josh, he'd been livid.

And then Liam had knocked hesitantly on Zayn's door and by God, was Zayn glad he'd listened to Louis for once.

Liam Payne is, in Zayn's honest (and unbiased, Harry, wipe that smirk off your face) opinion, the perfect roommate.

He cleaned up after himself with a single minded intensity (and Zayn, on more than one occasion, when the troubles of life weighed Zayn down and all he wanted was to lay in bed, eat Nutella, and rewatch Captain America as many times as he could handle). Liam paid for more than his fair share of groceries and detergent and all the other things necessary to keep their dorm room habitable. He cooked and sang loudly to Usher when he thought Zayn wasn't listening and he loved comics like Zayn did and he wanted a huge family and a big house and exactly two dogs. Liam's ultimate dream was to become a fireman because they save people, Zee, like Batman but without the gadgets and the cars and the mansions. He had a heart of made of unicorns and butterflies, Zayn swore by it, compassionate and pure and so full of love for his life and everyone in it that it made Zayn want to be a better person just by association.

That's not to say Liam was without his faults. Zayn wasn't so blinded by his crush on Liam that he couldn't see his flaws. When he was mad, Liam tended to retreat into himself. He didn't shout or throw things or hit something. No, he went out running or to the gym and returned sweaty, red cheeked, and sore. He stayed silent for days on end, answered only when spoken to directly in a clipped voice, stayed away from civilization, stayed away from Zayn, until his rage faded away. He overworked himself constantly, taking extra shifts at all of his jobs or pushing himself to maintain his perfect grade point average until he was on the edge of collapse with exhaustion. Liam was harsh on himself in ways Zayn didn't understand, and he sometimes turned this harshness from internal to external.

They'd fought only once, he and Liam, in the nine or so months they'd been living together. Liam had made a passing comment on one of Zayn's chemistry projects around finals at the beginning of the year, something biting and a little cruel. Zayn couldn't remember what had been said, not exactly, but he remembers the shit storm that had followed. How Zayn had snapped back about Liam's grades being less flawless than usual and it had ended with several broken objects, three holes in the living room wall, and Zayn packing some of his clothes in a bag and leaving to sleep at Harry and Louis'. Liam had come to their door in three days' time, eyes big and apologetic and sad. Zayn didn't even flinch, forgave Liam instantly because the space between them had been killing him too. That didn't mean they hadn't sat down and had a long chat about what had happened, but they were better after the fight. Closer, Zayn likes to think, more understanding of each other.

Liam also happened to be the most beautiful thing to walk the planet, with honeyed skin and soft brown eyes that squished up when he smiled. He's all cantaloupe sized biceps and sugary pink lips, buzzed hair and big, steady hands with a grip so strong they'd probably leave bruises on Zayn's skin that would last for weeks. His smile was like literal sunshine, and sometimes Zayn wishes he could bottle it up and keep it with him everywhere he goes. Liam had a way of looking at Zayn and making him feel like even the most trivial thing he had to say was in fact the most important thing in the world. He made Zayn feel a thousand feet tall, strong and capable and fearless. He also made Zayn feel like he was sixteen again, desperately horny and willing to take whatever Liam gave him.

But the problem was that Liam was, in fact, straight.

Or so Zayn assumed. By the way girls from Acorn Hall (the girl's dorm across campus) stopped by so often, he couldn't be anything but.

Which put a damper on Zayn's ten year "Life With Liam" plan, but still. A lad could dream.

 

*****

 

So Zayn has a problem. A very big, topsy turvy, inside out problem. A big-like-Buckingham-Palace problem. Like, bigger-than-Louis's-ginormous-bum problem.

He must be further down the rabbit hole than he'd first thought.

But back to the problem.

Zayn is drunk. He is very, very drunk, the music is both too loud and too quiet, and the liquor stopped tasting like acid six shots ago. He'll have to thank Louis later, because this is the most fun he's had in a very, very long time.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Zayn understands that he's going to have a raging hangover tomorrow and he's probably going to die, but for now he'll party like he's got nothing better to do.

A new song comes on and the beat is infectious, the bass thumping deep into his bones and rattling his soul.

Zayn twists and grinds and shimmies to it, registering a body in front of him. Before he can flinch away, he realizes it's Louis, who's twined with Harry. The heat at his back is Niall, someone's battered snapback on his head and a beer in each hand.

"Relax, Zayn," Louis calls over the music. "It's us."

"Wish you were Liam," Zayn mumbles into Louis' ear. "Why didn't he wanna come out wi' me, Lou?"

Louis clucks sympathetically, twists around so his back is to Harry and he's now facing Zayn. "Wasn't you, babe. He's, like, really gone over you, Zee. Don't doubt it," says Louis lowly into the air between them. "He really did have other stuff to do, yeah?"

Zayn snorts. "Into me? Liam's not into lads."

Niall rests his chin on Zayn's shoulder, the heat from his body seeping into Zayn's. "Liam, straight? Not from what we've seen."

Zayn frowns, tries to process their words through an alcohol addled brain. "But-"

He's about to say something articulate and sensible when Zayn finds himself laying next to Niall on the floor, staring up at a massive guy with no neck and a unibrow.

Harry helps them up while Louis growls and glares up at the guy.

"Watch where the fuck you and your little friends are going, twat," the guy spits into Louis's face.

"Fuck you, Limpdick McTinyprick, you're the one who knocked my mates down," Louis snaps back. "We were stationary, you absolute imbecile, so how about you watch where the fuck _you're_ going. Asshole." There's people watching them now, waiting to see what will happen.

Zayn moves to stand on Louis's left side while Harry wraps an arm around Louis's waist and gives the behemoth a slow smile. Zayn can't see Niall, he doesn't have any idea where the boy might have gone, but he's not worried about it. None of them would ever back out of a fight, it's too much fun to give up.

"Fucking fairies," the guy says with a laugh. "Bunch of cock sucking little-"

"Watch your mouth," Zayn says quietly.

"Or what, pretty boy?" he sneers.

"Or we'll rip your tongue outta your face and choke you with it," says Niall cheerfully as he reappears beside Zayn, his smile never reaching his eyes.

The guy laughs again, but he looks unsure and far less certain than he had a few seconds ago.

He should, Zayn thinks darkly. Louis, when angry, fought fearlessly and with little concern for himself. Harry was cautious and observant, looking for your weaknesses before nailing them with lightning precision and Niall was nothing less than a hurricane, leaving destruction in his wake.

Zayn, he just likes the feeling of his fist finding its home in someone's cheekbone, jaw, ribs, kidneys. He likes to make the people who caused problems for him and his boys bleed.

Which might be why Zayn forgoes words and simply swings, nailing the prick in his face. Mammoth, as Zayn has named him in his head, falls to one knee. Another solid hit and he drops like a bag of rocks.

Mammoth's boys are there in an instant, just as big and twice as ugly, and it kind of erupts from there. Zayn catches glimpses of Niall hammering a guy into the ground, Harry dragging another one down into a headlock that's slowly turning the man's face purple, and Louis swinging the leg of a chair madly at anything that moves.

Zayn's got Mammoth, who'd gotten up not long after he'd been knocked out, by the front of his shirt and he's just letting him have it, laying into his face and ribs with everything he's got, when he hears a scream over the cheers and taunts.

"COPS!" a girl's voice cries."EVERYONE OUT, COPS ARE COMING!"

And there goes the night, Zayn thinks grimly to himself. He lets Mammoth fall from his grip and turns to find his boys. He locks eyes with Louis and Louis jerks his head towards the front door before smacking a kiss to Harry's cheek and shoving him in another direction.

The crowd that had been gathered around them disperses like roaches when light floods the shadow and colorful strobe lights they'd been cloaked in. Zayn sighs heavily before following Louis outside. He regrets wearing such tight jeans, because they really aren't made for running.

"Where are Harry and Niall?" Zayn calls as they run across the front lawn. "Lou, where'd they go?"

He glances behind him and sees the blue and white flashes of police cars distantly, moving fast down the street. The house is wrecked, rubbish strewn across the yard and the stench of alcohol and weed drifting lazily in the air.

"The two of them went out the back. They'll be fine."

"Shouldn't we follow them? I don't know, meet up or something?"

Louis vaults himself over a fence and hits the other side running. Zayn follows him, keeping his eyes trained on the bright red of Louis' jeans.

"They can take care of themselves, Zayn," Louis bites out, his breathing labored but his voice even. "You're my responsibility and-"

"Oi, fuck you, I'm no one's  _responsibility_ -" _  
_

"-promised him I'd get you home safe and that's what I'm gonna do-"

Zayn wants nothing more than to take a swing at Louis because he's not a child to be looked after, to be coddled and watched carefully, he's a grown fucking man and he can take care of his damn self. As much as Zayn wants to dig his heels in and fight, he can't because his lungs have died and his legs might be next.

They dash across streets and into the darkness of peoples' yards, hiding when the occasional squad car passes by. They're emerging from the bushes and Zayn recognizes where they are, Louis' led them back to the campus. Other people are filtering out from the darkness too, people from the party finding their way home.

Just when Zayn starts to believe they're in the clear, literally just when he starts to slow and catch his breath, a cop car comes charging down the lane.

"Fuck," Louis hisses. He grabs Zayn by the front of his shirt and hauls him towards Zayn's dorm building some yards away.

They're through the door before most of the others, but Louis forgoes the elevators and opts for the stairs. Louis' hands push Zayn from behind to keep him going.

"Lou, the elevators will be quicker," Zayn complains.

"Keep your ass moving, Malik, don't question me," he retorts. Zayn mumbles angrily at Louis but keeps climbing nonetheless.

Zayn's dorm building, Thistle Hall, is ten stories high, each floor housing fifteen dorm rooms. Zayn supposes he's lucky, since each unit has two separate bedrooms, a bathroom and shower, and a fully operational kitchen. The only shitty thing is that the laundry room is in the basement, which is a hell of a trek when you've got three bags full of clothes. Louis and Harry's dorm is a few buildings over, but Niall's is on the fifth floor while Zayn's is on the seventh.

They burst onto Zayn's floor dramatically, the door bouncing off the wall and echoing loudly down the stairs. Louis leads them to Zayn's room almost at the end of the hall and pats him down for the key. At least buy me dinner first, Zayn thinks giddily.

"Sorry mate, not into you like that," says Louis and oops, did he say that out loud? "Yeah you did, Malik, you must be blasted."

Louis tugs Zayn's school lanyard out of his pocket and opens the door just in time for Liam to catch it.

"Lou? Zayn?" Liam asks, his voice sleep heavy and his face flushed. Zayn kind of wants to die. "Wha' happened?"

Zayn's about to gallantly compliment Liam's birthmark when "Isn't She Lovely" starts to blare from Louis' pocket. His phone is to his ear almost too fast for Zayn to follow.

"Babe? Everything alright?" Louis asks, alarmed. Must be Harry, Zayn thinks. When Louis nods, Zayn realizes he spoke out loud again.

Zayn refocuses on Liam, who looks awake and more alert than he had a few seconds ago. He's wearing sweats and a big black t-shirt that's cut off at the sleeves, showing off his tattoos and his muscles and Zayn just might be popping a drunk boner.

"Are you shitting me? Please tell me you're joking," Louis hisses, bringing Zayn back from Liamland. "Those fucking little pricks, I'll have them flayed for this. Don't worry, babe, just sit tight, I'll take care of them."

If Zayn listens close he can hear the bass rumble of Harry's voice coming from the speaker of Louis' phone.

"I know you're a big boy, Harold, but I quite frankly couldn't give less of a fuck," Louis says lightly. "See you in a bit, love, 've got to take care of Zayn. Love you too. Yeah, bye."

Louis hangs up and slides his phone into his pocket, then turns back to Zayn and Liam with his hands clasped in front of him.

"You two gonna say something or do I need to come up with the answers myself?" asks Liam. He looks at Zayn and Louis expectantly.

Between the two of them, Louis seems the more sober, so Zayn leaves the explaining to him.

"Long story short, we got into a bit of a scuffle at the party we went to and the cops showed up," says Louis.

Liam's disapproving glare doesn't phase Louis at all, though it does make Zayn feel like that time he broke his mother's favorite ceramic vase when he was ten and she'd given him a similar look and a fifteen minute time out.

Louis' phone rings again, this time to "Sway", and he holds up a finger before answering it. "Yes, Niall? Yeah, Harry called. Yeah, he told me. Thanks for calling anyway. Hope they didn't give you trouble. Love you too, you little Irish shit. See you tomorrow. Bye."

"What else?" asks Liam after Louis puts his phone away, because by now he knows there's more to tell.

"Haz and Niall have called to share that the sewer scum we smeared across some poor bird's wood floors have given our descriptions to the police," says Louis sourly. "They want to press charges, apparently, even though they're the ones who started it."

"How do Harry and Niall know?" asks Zayn. The liquor is starting to wear off now.

"Cops have been going door to door and asking people if they've seen any of us around before. The lads heard it from Jade, who got it from Leigh-Anne, who was forewarned by Jesy, who's dating Jake Roche from the police dispatch office," replies Louis. The convoluted chain of informants makes Zayn's brain ache. "They managed to talk their way out of it, but the cops are making their way through the building. So you need to get inside, like, right now."

Louis pushes Zayn into the room and he stumbles right into Liam's waiting arms. "I held up my end of the bargain, Liam," says Louis seriously. "Now you hold up yours."

Then he's gone, down the hall and to God only knows where.

Liam shuts the door behind Zayn and leans him up against it. "Cops, Liam," Zayn breathes. "Fucking  _police_ , what the fuck am I gonna do."

Zayn's working himself up now, images of handcuffs and holding cells and courtrooms flashing through his mind. He's about to lose it, absolutely go nuts at the idea of his parents having to visit him from the other side of a glass barrier again because he'd sworn he wouldn't get into any more trouble, he'd promised them, when a hand tilts his chin up.

Brown eyes, like leaves in autumn and raw amber right from the earth. Patient and strong and watchful, waiting, waiting for Zayn.

"Don't worry, Zayn," says Liam softly. "I'll take care of you, yeah? I'll take care of everything."

Zayn's worry eases some, even with a minor headache brewing at the base of his skull. Suddenly Liam pulls him away from the door and opens it, leaning out to peer down the hall. He shuts it almost as fast. After a few seconds of silence and Zayn watching Liam's forehead wrinkle in concentration, Liam disappears down the hallway, leaving Zayn confused and alone.

He returns with a plain sheet, throwing it on the couch. Zayn's brain sort of short circuits after that because Liam's tugging off his shirt and sliding off his sweats and  _what in God's name is going on right now._

"Babe, what are you doing?" Zayn asks out loud when it feels like his tongue is no longer trying to choke him.

Liam, in only his boxers, God have mercy, walks forward until he's crowding Zayn against the door. "Do you trust me, Zayn?" he asks and he's so close Zayn can feel Liam's breath on his tongue.

"Of course, Liam," says Zayn almost calmly, though his insides are quaking with a weird mix of want and anxiety and fear (of the police, not Liam. Never Liam). "Of course I do. Now tell me what you're doing."

"Keeping you safe," he says softly. "Clothes off." Zayn complies without hesitating. His shirt and jeans join Liam's in the corner, his shoes and socks thrown off somewhere in the dark.

Zayn's going to ask what Liam's plan is, but then Liam fists a hand gently in his hair and tugs his head back slightly and  _oh_.

Liam's lips are soft and pliant, not chapped like Zayn imagined they might be. He tastes like coffee, despite having been asleep, his tongue sliding slippery-slick over Zayn's. Liam nips his lip, traces the sting with his tongue, before kissing him hard again. Zayn hesitates and then kisses back with all he's got, fisting one hand in Liam's hair and the other digging into his hip.

He moves down to Zayn's neck, sucking and biting his way down to his left collar bone, his chest, the sensation making stars shatter and explode behind Zayn's closed eyes. Liam takes a nipple between his teeth and sucks lightly, biting tenderly at it and Zayn is going to come in his pants. He's so hard he's half afraid it'll rip through his briefs and the moans coming out of his mouth are like no sound Zayn's ever made before. The mouth on his nipple is suddenly gone and Zayn whines at the loss, until the hand in his hair tugs his face so it's buried in the crook of Liam's neck and Zayn simply follows his instincts.

Which is basically to leave Liam's neck, shoulders, and chest looking like he was attacked by a deranged octopus. Liam's leg presses between Zayn's and up, and Zayn hisses at the sudden friction, bites at Liam's earlobe before kissing him like the answer to life's questions are hidden on Liam's tongue.

Just as Zayn's about to either slip a hand down Liam's underwear or beg Liam to do the same for him, Liam pulls away. He turns and snags the sheet from the couch, draping it around Zayn's shoulders and positioning it in a way that leaves Zayn looking bare from the waist up and the upper thighs down. It hides his underwear so well he actually looks naked.

"Perfect," says Liam quietly, stroking Zayn's hair.

There's a knock on the door behind them and Liam pulls Zayn towards him so Zayn's back is flush with Liam's chest. He thinks Liam mutters something along the lines of, " _Showtime, Payne_ ," before tugging the door open.

Two police officers in full uniform, a red haired man and a short, slender woman, are standing outside their door. The woman's hand is raised as if she was going to knock again.

"Evening Ed, Cher," says Liam, and his voice is somehow perfectly groggy and hoarse. Zayn feels him rest his chin against his shoulder. "How can we help you?"

"Liam, mate, didn't know this was your place. Sorry to bother you," says the man apologetically.

" 's alright, man. What's the matter?" says Liam.

The man, Ed, takes in their rumpled demeanors, lingering on Zayn's neck and torso. "We broke up a party earlier this evening and we're looking for some individuals who were involved in a fight."

"Don't suppose you could tell us where you and your friend been the last few hours, Li?" says the woman Cher, but from the way her cheeks are flushed pink and the slight smirk on her face, Zayn doesn't think they need to answer. He plays along with what he hopes is Liam's plan and tilts his head to rest against Liam's.

"Been here all night," Zayn lies. "We were kinda busy, huh, babe?"

"Hmm," Liam hums softly and presses a kiss to Zayn's cheek. "Very busy."

Ed clears his throat and gives them both a wide grin. "Ah, young love. Nothing quite like it."

"Looks a little less like love and a whole lot like they were just fu-," Cher begins, but Ed bumps her so hard with his shoulder she almost falls down.

Liam's chuckle is sweet in Zayn's ear. "You talk like you're an old man, Ed. You're only a few years older than me."

"He certainly acts like an old nag," grumbles Cher.

"Well, lads it's been nice talking with you. Have a splendid evening. And Liam, I'll be seeing you tomorrow," says Ed cheerfully.

And with a wink from him and a blown kiss from Cher, the two of them disappear down the hall.

Liam shuffles them both backwards and closes the door. Zayn tugs the sheet from his body and folds it up, hugging it to his chest.

"Since when d'you know cops?" asks Zayn into the horrifyingly awkward silence.

"Ed volunteers at the shelter with me," says Liam. "I met Cher at one of my fire cadet training courses, she played a victim."

"Um, about what just happened-"

"Not a problem," he says immediately. There's a sunny smile on Liam's face that makes Zayn's stomach churn, for some reason. "What are mates for, right?"

"What?" asks Zayn. God, he thinks he might throw up. It feels like there's acid eating at his guts.

"You needed an alibi, yeah? Something to keep you out of trouble. Well, mission accomplished."

"Yeah, an alibi. That's all I needed," says Zayn, and his voice sounds odd. Small and a little cold. Sad, almost.

"Zayn?" Liam's eyes are lit with concern. "Mate, you okay?"

He moves forward, one hand outstretched, and in that moment Zayn knows he absolutely will not be able to stand being touched. "I'm fine," he snaps, moving out of Liam's reach.

Hurt flashes across Liam's face. "Babe, I-"

"Not feeling too well, actually," says Zayn, and he isn't lying. His insides feel like they're on fire. "Gonna head to the bathroom, yeah? See you later, Li. And, ah, thanks for the help."

Zayn nearly runs to the bathroom and all but slams the door shut. He clicks the lock in place just as the doorknob begins to rattle. The sheet falls from Zayn's fingers, and he looks down to see his hands shaking violently.

"Zayn, you alright?" Liam asks softly from outside, all worry and concern, and that's it. That's all Zayn can stand.

He barely makes it to the toilet before throwing up the contents of his stomach. It burns on the way out, a strange contrast to the cold that's settled into his blood, his bones, the very essence of his being.

Zayn passes out some time later when the vomiting subsides, long after Liam had said good night against the wood of the bathroom door, with tears dripping onto his bare skin and a feeling of utter despair in his heart.


	2. Love Me Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this was originally going to be one whole fic, but it got too long, so I've broken it up into two chapters.
> 
> UPDATE: I AM A LYING LIAR WHO LIES. THERE WILL BE THREE CHAPTERS ALL TOGETHER. MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES FOR DECIEVING ALL OF YOU.
> 
> Also, as usual, please please please read the additional warnings at the end before continuing.

He wakes up shivering on ice cold tile, his muscles cramped and sore.

Zayn's throat feels as if it's been rubbed with sandpaper and powdered glass, his every muscle aching. God, his mouth tastes like how Niall's room smelled that time a rat had died under his bed last summer. There's no headache, which he's thankful for, but his stomach seems to have clenched itself into a tight fist.

None of these pains compare, though, to the way Zayn feels when he uncurls himself from the bathroom floor and sees his reflection in the mirror. Because the brilliant purple and red hickeys on his skin, the pink of stubble burn along his neck and chest, the tired sadness in the lines of his face, simply confirm the memories he wishes were bad dreams.

"Of course he doesn't want you, silly boy," says Zayn to his reflection, and he watches his face twist into a terrible mockery of a smile. "Silly, wretched, love sick child."

Suddenly he can't stand to look at himself, can't bear the sight of it. He tugs his phone from his pocket to make sure Liam's left for work (it's almost two in the afternoon, holy shit, it's really late) before tugging open the door.

There's a small bundle of things Zayn almost falls over as he steps out. Upon closer inspection, he finds that it's a set of extra clothes, his soap and scrub cloth, and a fluffy towel. It just makes him feel worse, because he knows Liam left them for him out of pity and sympathy. But he takes them nonetheless, retreating into his bathroom lair clutching his things like a predator with his prize.

The shower is almost orgasmic, hot water beating against his head and shoulders. It eases his aches and clears his mind. The smell of Zayn's soap grounds him and brings him back from the edge of whatever pit he'd been ready to throw himself into. When Zayn decides he's almost halfway himself again, he shuts off the water and snags his towel off the rack. He dries himself off quickly, stepping out of the shower after most of the water is soaked up.

The mirror is fogged over, so Zayn wipes it clean with one stroke and stares at his reflection. The hickeys are still there, despite the foolish hope he'd had that the water would wash them away. They were still lurid and vividly bright, though the stubble burn has faded slightly against the flush that's set into his skin. It's his eyes, though, that Zayn sees the most difference in. The dead look he'd seen there before his gone now, replaced by a sort of sad resignation.

Zayn shakes himself and slips on his clothes, then goes about putting the bathroom in order.

He opens the door to let the steam out and starts with the toilet, scrubbing it out with so much bleach his eyes burn. When it's a pristine white, Zayn carefully folds up the rug in front of the bathroom sink that has a few dribbles of his vomit on it and stacks it with his dirty boxers. Zayn sweeps the floor and wipes it down with some disposable lemon scented cleaning pads and the Swiffer mop Liam keeps behind the door.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Zayn exits the bathroom with the rug and his underwear, collecting his dirty clothes on the way to his bedroom. He pauses and ducks into the kitchen. He downs a large glass of cold water and a piece of toast with butter and jam. It doesn't feel like he's going to throw any of it up, so he drinks more water and eats another bit of toast.

Zayn walks into his room and throws his laundry into the hamper. Instead of letting himself stew in his emotions, Zayn turns on his speakers, hooks up his iPod, and puts it on shuffle.

He cleans, which is out of character, but it's all he has to distract himself. Zayn folds all of his clean laundry and hangs his dress clothes in his closet, vacuums his floor and dusts the cobwebs out of the corners. His paints and charcoals and colored pencils get thoroughly sorted and organized, his easels and paper stacked neatly in the corner and his desk cleaned out and wiped down. Zayn loses himself, basically, in the rhythm of whatever song's playing and the tasks he puts his mind to. It becomes methodical, subconscious.

When he finally pays attention to what he's doing, Zayn finds himself with two clean shirts in his hands and his duffel bag half packed. He puts the shirts down, sits on the edge of his bed, and grips his knees until his knuckles turn white.

That's when he realizes he doesn't want to face this alone. He can't do it. So Zayn pulls out his phone and hits the first number on his speed dial.

It rings a few times before a rough voice picks up. "Zayn. Zayn, I love you, I really do. But I'm trying really fucking hard not to hate you right now. Why're you calling me while the sun's still up?"

The brief flash of guilt Zayn feels isn't strong enough to stop him from saying, "I've got a code blue, Lou."

There's a moment of silence on Louis' end, some scuffling in the background, and then, "We'll be over in a bit, yeah? Just let me get this great big giraffe of mine up and we'll-"

"I was hoping I could come over to yours?" asks Zayn quickly, hands twisting the fabric of his t-shirt.

Louis doesn't even flinch. "Of course, Zayn. Come straight over and let yourself in."

"Yeah. See you soon."

 

*****

 

When Zayn opens the door to Louis and Harry's dorm room with the spare key they'd given him, Louis comes walking down the hallway to meet him.

He takes one look at Zayn and pulls him into a tight, tight hug. They stand like that for a while, Zayn biting back tears and the sob burning his throat while Louis hums nonsensical words in his ear. When they separate, Louis holds Zayn's face gently between his hands and looks him in the eyes for far too long.

"God, I really need a smoke," Zayn hiccups, his words trailing off into a weak chuckle.

"Absolutely not," says Louis immediately as he releases Zayn. "I refuse to enable such a terrible habit."

He glares at his best mate with no real heat. "You smoke, you git."

"Yes, but you stopped years ago. And you made me promise to never let you pick one up or to provide you with one, no matter how much you'd say you needed it," Louis reminds him. "I didn't break all the other times you asked, and I won't break now." Zayn hates Louis in that moment. Loves him like the brother Louis has always been, yes, but hates him all the same.

"Get comfortable, Malik, I'll be back in a bit," instructs Louis.

Zayn walks into the living room and plops down on the couch, hugging his knees to his chest. He hears Louis walk down the hallway and then return a few seconds later. Louis putters around in the kitchen, the warmth and richness of coffee filling the air before Louis' standing in front of him with two steaming mugs. His coffee is perfect, of course, black with a hint of cream and three sugars. Louis sits besides him, tugging Zayn's legs until his feet are in Louis' lap before sipping his tea. Louis despises coffee but loves the smell, and he brews pot after pot without ever drinking any.

The silence is comfortable, patient. "Where's Harry?" asks Zayn suddenly. "You mentioned him earlier?"

Louis nods towards the hall. "Asleep, poor lad. I went to go give him some painkillers. He can handle his liquor but it's the hangover that kicks his ass."

Zayn chuckles softly. Yeah, that was Harry for you. "And Niall?"

"Oh, right as rain, of course," snorts Louis. "Had to work at the clinic today. Showed up on time, chipper as usual, according to Josh."

Zayn laughs again, a little louder this time. And that, he thinks, is most definitely Niall.

"So. Code blue, huh?" asks Louis as he studies Zayn. Zayn nods glumly.

Back in their seventh year, when they'd first started hanging out, Zayn and Louis had invented a code for themselves. It allowed one of them to let the other know they were needed in some way without clueing anyone else in on what was being said. There was code orange, which was "need a study partner, failing a class". Code red was "parents fighting, need somewhere to crash", code green was "going out, need a wingman", and so on.

But code blue they'd only ever used twice, to Zayn's knowledge. It meant "emotionally compromised, need to talk immediately". The first time had been Zayn having a minor sexuality crisis when he was sixteen. The second was when Louis realized, back in their first year at Uni, that Harry meant more to him than just a casual shag every Friday night.

"Out with it, then. What's happened?" asks Louis.

Zayn takes a steady breath. He drain half his coffee, hisses quietly when it burns his tongue, and puts the mug down. "So. Liam kissed me last night."

"You don't look very happy about it," says Louis skeptically.

"Oh, the kissing was amazing. Very talented, that boy," says Zayn. "This is about what happened after."

"Did he hurt you?" Louis asks. He goes very still. "Zayn, did he force you to do something you didn't want to?"

"What? No, Lou, of course not," says Zayn. "It's Liam we're talking about here, he couldn't hurt a fly."

Louis studies his face before unfreezing and sipping his tea. "You never know what people are really like, Zayn. Even Liam, nice as he is, must have a bad side." Zayn lets him have that, because he does have a point.

"So if there was no bad touching last night, why are you code blueing?"

And Zayn tells him. He tells Louis everything, because he's never kept secrets from Louis and he doesn't intend to start now.

"And then I called you and here we are," says Zayn. His voice is steady even though his hands are trembling slightly. "God, Lou, what's going on?"

Louis' face is doing that thing where he's showing several emotions at once, sadness and sympathy and anger all mashed together. His thumb rubs gentle circles into Zayn's bare ankle.

"Looks to me like Liam panicked and then you panicked and everyone ended up going to bed feeling like shit," he says. Put that way, it was all very simple. Emotionally it was a whole other ball game. "That was a purely dick move on his part, though, to tell you he did it because you needed an excuse. That was a blatant lie."

"Maybe he _was_ telling the truth, though," says Zayn.

Louis snorts. "He could've told you to hide. He could've shut the door and turned out the lights and pretended no one was home. Hell, he could've just straight up lied to their faces. But what did Liam do? None of the above."

"Maybe he was thinking on his feet and it was the first thing that came to mind," says Zayn and okay,  _why is he defending the guy who kind of broke his heart?_

"He was thinking with something, Zayn, and it sure as hell wasn't on his feet," says Louis with a bright giggle. Zayn digs his heel into Louis' thigh until Louis yelps and slaps his foot.

He watches Zayn for a little while after they settle again. "I'm terribly sorry that you spent the night on your bathroom floor, Zayn. I'm very sorry he hurt you like this, and if I didn't know it would kill you to see him in pain, I'd gut him like a fish."

"Yeah, no. No gutting of any kind," says Zayn, shaking his head. "I'm such an idiot, Lou, I should have-"

"You should have nothing. None of this is in any way your fault, Zayn," interjects Louis. "Liam is the one responsible, he should have known better, but he let his feelings get in the way and that's what caused this. Not you. You got that?"

Zayn grabs his mug and drains the rest of his coffee, trying very hard to still the shaking of his hands. The shaking in his heart, on the other hand, was something he couldn't seem to control. "I think you need some time away from him, Zayn. And because of that, you're welcome to stay with us until you can sort this out."

"Lou, no, I don't want to intru-"

"You finish that sentence and I'll break your stupidly perfect nose," threatens Louis. "I don't know why you thought that was an option, because it wasn't. I was just pretending to offer it when really you have no choice."

Zayn smiles, his heart aching in a sweet way, before leaning over and wrapping an arm around Louis' neck. "Thanks for being here, Lou."

Louis strokes Zayn's hair gently and murmurs, "Any time, babe. Any time."

 

*****

 

Despite Zayn's protests, they go back to Zayn's dorm together later on because Louis is unwilling to let Zayn potentially run in to Liam alone.

Zayn lets them in, relieved and somewhat disappointed that the place is empty, and goes straight to his room. The bag is still on his bed, so he stuffs in the shirts he'd left there earlier and some other things he thinks he'll need before zipping it up and slinging it over his shoulder. Louis' standing in the living room when he goes back outside.

"Ready?" asks Louis. Zayn nods and follows Louis out again. On the walk back to Louis' dorm, Zayn pulls out his phone and types a text to Liam:

_I don't want you to freak out on me, so I'm letting you know that I'm leaving for a few days. Don't worry, I'll be fine, I just need some time to myself. Thank you for understanding. Z._

"That for Liam?" asks Louis.

"Don't want him to get worked up," murmurs Zayn as he hits send and puts his phone back in his pocket. "You know how he gets sometimes."

"Yeah, I do," says Louis. "I don't think any of us are up to going out any time soon, so maybe a night in would be agreeable, yeah?" There's nothing in the world that sounds better to Zayn than just being with his boys, so he simply nods and hoists his bag up a little bit higher.

When they get back to the room, Harry and Niall are dancing in the kitchen to something faintly Fifth Harmony, Niall stirring the contents of a large black pot while Harry pokes at something in the oven. They greet Zayn and Louis with cheers and tea cups of grape juice. He tries in vain to pull away when Niall takes him by the arm and tries to make him dance, but Louis tugs his bag off his shoulder and sets it down. A few minutes later Zayn is breathless with laughter, sweat beading his brow and his aching muscles aching more.

Eventually the dancing stops when whatever's in the pot begins to smell alarmingly burnt. It turns out perfect, of course, a thick chicken stew with a side of potatoes roasted in herbs and oil. The wine that replaces the juice is just as sweet, almost decadently rich, and the chocolate cake Harry pulls out of the fridge sends Zayn straight to the afterlife. He's pretty sure he blacks out for a second when he takes his first bite.

It's a delicious meal, one of the best Zayn's had in a very long time. Niall tells a hilarious story about how a footballer who'd come in to the physical therapy clinic he worked at bragged about being able to take anything they could throw at him and ended up crying halfway through Perrie's routine. Louis informs Niall that the only reason he wasn't suffering with a hangover like everyone else was because he was Irish, to which Harry heartily agrees.

Simple, Zayn thinks to himself as he watches his boys laugh and throw napkins at each other, exactly what he needed after the complicated shit he'd been through.

They stop talking eventually, when they see how late it's getting. The food is placed in plastic containers and stored in the fridge while the dishes are washed, dried, and put away. Zayn even wipes down the dining room table and the stove, the cleaning fit he'd felt earlier in the day making a quick reappearance.

Niall says his goodbyes not long after, saving Zayn for last. He folds him in to a hug so tight Zayn feels his bones creak.

"I love you. You know that, right?" says Niall into his ear.

His breath catches in his throat. "Yeah," he croaks. "I love you, too."

Niall releases him and presses a gentle kiss to Zayn's forehead before leaving. He shuts the door firmly behind him and when Zayn turns around, Harry has his arms wrapped gently around Louis' waist from behind. Zayn smiles at how disgustingly domestic they look and walks towards the living room, picking up his discarded bag and plopping it (along with himself) on the couch.

He's about to stack up some couch pillows to make a nest of sorts when he feels a sudden, sharp pain in the lobe of his ear. He twists to see Louis glaring at him, fingers pinching the aforementioned appendage. "And _what_ , exactly, do you think you're doing?" he asks in an outraged tone.

"Sleeping on the couch?" Zayn says, his answer turning into a question.

"Um, absolutely fucking _not_ ," snaps Louis. He gives Zayn's ear a tug sharp enough to have Zayn on his feet. "You will sleep in the spare bedroom and you will fucking enjoy it, understand?"

"Isn't that one of your rooms?" he complains, but his heart is warm with Louis' concern and he picks up his bag to follow when Louis releases his ear.

The look Louis gives him flat and disbelieving. "Harry and I haven't slept apart in a very, very long time, you git. The room is yours until further notice."

Louis marches him down the hallway and shoves him through the door as Harry gives him an amused look from behind Louis' shoulder. "Good night, Zayn," says Louis firmly. "Don't forget to shower before you go to bed."

"Love you," Harry says with a gentle smile.

"Yes, Mum. Love you too, Dad," Zayn grumbles back. Louis sneers and flips him off, about to tell him something sarcastic, but Harry tugs him back and shuts the door, leaving Zayn in silence.

He flips on the light and surveys his new living quarters. The bed is huge, with way too many pillows for one person and a very soft looking duvet. There's a dresser in the corner and a massive wooden desk under the window. Everything's color coordinated in shades of red and cream and black, obviously Harry's doing, down to the curtain rods and the towel hangers behind the door.

Zayn takes what he has in his bag and puts it in a single dresser drawer, stacks his toiletries in another one, before tossing the empty duffel into the closet. There's towels in the closet on a shelf, so he grabs one and heads for the bathroom.

This shower is just as good as the one he took earlier, the heat soaking through his flesh and into his bones. The soap he uses smells like Harry and Louis, eucalyptus with a hint of mint and citrus. He bathes as fast as he can, gets out and dried and dressed, then ventures back to his room.

Zayn's clothes go into the basket in the corner before he folds himself under the thick comforter. He sinks into the bed like it's trying to suck him in, the soft warmth radiating from his core soon mixing with the comfort seeping through him.

Sleep takes him between one lazy blink and the next.

 

*****

 

He wakes up some time later out of a nightmare about running away from something, passing through darkness towards a light in the distance that never got closer. Whatever was chasing him, it's footsteps had been loud and thunderous.

For a second as Zayn floats in the limbo between sleeping and waking, he thinks he hears the footsteps again. Just a nightmare, he thinks, nothing more.

Zayn is covered in a thin film of sweat and his mouth is bone dry, his heart trying to hammer it's way out of his body. Sliding out of bed, he crosses the room and opens the door as quietly as he can, intent on getting a glass of water and falling back asleep.

Halfway down the hallway, he hears voices in the kitchen. And at first he thinks it's Harry and Louis, up in the wee morning hours just like him. Then the voices become clearer the closer he gets and his stomach is suddenly very well acquainted with the soles of his feet.

Because that's Liam talking. And this is so not something Zayn wants to deal with.

But because he seems to be a masochist at heart, Zayn creeps his way down the hallway and sits with his back against the half wall dividing the kitchen from the living room. And he listens, because that's something he's always been good at.

"No, Liam," says Louis, his voice harsh and biting and a bit cold. "Absolutely not."

"Please, I'm begging you, Lou, just five minutes. That's all I need," Liam pleads, and God, Zayn is so in over his head. His heart twists in his chest at how pleading and regretful and almost grief stricken Liam sounds. "Maybe even less time than that."

"You're lucky I even answered the bloody door, and I only did it because your pounding would have woken him up," snaps Louis. "I knew you'd be coming around sooner or later and the last thing I wanted was for him to open this door and come face to face with _you_."

The footsteps had been Liam knocking loudly on the door, Zayn thinks. But was reality really so different from his dream?

There's silence after that, nothing but shaky breathing. "I've really fucked up, haven't I?" says Liam bitterly.

Louis chuckles humorlessly. "Monumentally."

"God, I didn't mean for this to happen," says Liam loudly. "He texted me, did you know that?"

"I was there when he sent it."

"Half the puppies in the holding pen almost got loose because of it. At least when we fought the last time, I had the chance to stop him. I saw him leave, watched him walk right out the front door."

"You let him go that time," Louis notes. "He stayed here and stewed in his anger for three days before you showed up. So what's different about this time?"

"I was going to come home and talk it out with him, Louis. Maybe pick up some curry from that shop he likes down the street, have dinner with him, explain myself."

"How did you know he came here?" asks Louis. "I doubt he told you where he'd gone."

Liam snorts. "You're his best mate and he came here last time we fought. Doesn't take a genius to figure that out."

"True," Louis muses. He's silent for a little while before he speaks again.

"I wish I could show you the look on his face when he first came here. It was like someone he loved had died right in front of his eyes. That's a look I don't ever want to see again, not in this lifetime or the next."

"That's why you _have to let me in_ ," Liam says, enunciating every word. "I need to _fix this_ , Lou, I need to fix us right this instant or I swear I'll kill over."

"It's three in the fucking morning on a Sunday. You're wearing the clothes you were probably wearing this morning, and you stink like animal piss, sweat, and booze," says Louis critically. "This isn't how you'd want him to see you, but even if you were at your most presentable, I still wouldn't let you in."

"But _Louis_ -"

"If he wanted to see you, you wouldn't be talking to me. He wants time, Liam, time to get his head on right again," snaps Louis. "If he wants space from you, you fucking honor his request. You keep your goddamn distance and you fucking wait until he comes to you. Am I clear?"

The silence this time is even longer, more final than the last and full of unspoken words that speak louder than anything that's been said.

"Yeah," says Liam finally. "Yeah, you- you're right. Time, that's what he needs. But you let him know I came, yeah? Tell him I'll be waiting for him."

There's a huff of air, probably Louis, and then fabric rustling and the thud of one body against another. A muffled sob fills the air, followed by Louis shushing and murmuring soft comforts into what must be Liam's hair.

"There's a lad, it's alright," says Louis, and for an insane second Zayn wants to throw himself out of his hiding place and hug Liam, too.

But he doesn't. He stays where he is and drinks in Liam's sadness, probably the most bitter beverage he's ever had in his life.

"I'll walk you back, yeah?" Louis says softly, and Liam snuffles an agreement. Zayn hears Louis pull on his shoes and shut the door behind him and at this point he thinks it might be a good idea to get up and go back in his room, but for the life of him he can't move.

Louis finds him like that a few minutes later, still curled up ahainst the wall. Louis sits beside him, tucking Zayn under his arm.

"I take it you heard that?" he asks.

Zayn nods.

"How much of it, exactly?"

"Enough," Zayn forces out.

"God, the two of you, I swear," says Louis. Zayn's pretty sure Louis rolled his eyes, but he can't see because his face is crushed halfway into his underarm.

"What?" complains Zayn into the fabric of Louis' sweater.

"You're both utterly ridiculous, with the affection and the fighting and the _looks, God_ , like-" says Louis.

"I don't look at him like anything, Lou. And he certainly doesn't look at me in a weird way either."

"Oh, that's bullshit. He looks at you like he's a bird with a broken wing and you're the sky, and all he wants more than anything is to fly again," scoffs Louis, but his tone is fond.

Zayn's speechless. Louis isn't normally so poetic, and it's screwing with his head. "No, he doesn't," he chokes out after a while. Louis simply chuckles and rubs his back gently.

"Tell me the truth, Louis. Am I overreacting?" whispers Zayn sadly. "Am I just blowing this out of proportion?"

"No," says Louis simply. "You're not."

They stay that way until Louis complains the cold is making his ass sore and stands. He pulls Zayn to his feet and they walk down the hall together. Louis waits outside his door like he did before Zayn first fell asleep, watchful and quiet. "See you in the morning," says Zayn as he tucks himself in.

He's about to shut his eyes when Louis speaks. "And Zayn?" he says as he's shutting the door.

"Hmm?"

"Don't go looking for him until you know you're ready," says Louis. "When you're good and ready and not a moment sooner."

Zayn mumbles incoherently as Louis leaves, and he's left blessedly dreamless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the kiss contains descriptions of Zayn's hickeys and some self-deprecating thoughts. Zayn thinks really lowly of himself and feels terrible about the kiss with Liam, and it affects him mentally.
> 
> If any of these are triggers for you, please turn back now. Don't risk it even if you might want to read this. And stay safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Zayn, Louis, Harry, and Niall attend a house party, and they all get into a sort of mini-brawl with these bunch of OMCs because one of them makes a homophobic remark towards the boys.
> 
> There's no graphic depiction of wounds or any really serious fighting, but if any of these are triggers, PLEASE TURN BACK NOW.


End file.
